


Is It Too Much To Ask For Something Great?

by shoulderbladesarewings



Category: One Direction
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Artist Zayn, Blow Jobs, Cute Harry, Emotional Abuse, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mention of Physical Abuse, Multi, Niam in the background, Protective Louis, Sad Zayn, Threesome, Unrequited Love, Zourry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, the whole thing's pretty weird really, there's a kind of weird worship thing going on...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderbladesarewings/pseuds/shoulderbladesarewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of a drawing by the wonderful karukara<br/>Zayn's a lonely new kid obsessed with drawing Liam. Liam's afraid of perfection - and he's got a boyfriend anyway. Harry is a photographer, Louis collects pretty things, and they both just want to make each other happy. No one really minds when that ends up involving Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

Zayn has been drawing for hours, ever since he rolled out of bed at noon. He broke for a sandwich at around four, and now it’s nearly ten at night and he can’t stop.

   He’s drawing Liam, of course. He’s been drawing Liam every day for weeks now. It’s an addiction, as surely as the cigarettes he keeps in his sock drawer and the tattoos that sprawl all over his skin like sunburn. He inks them himself, from scratch, and he knows there have been far too many times he’s had to talk himself out of getting Liam’s name across his collarbone or his hip. He knows he’s gone, and not in a good way. He knows, but he can’t stop.

   What is it about Liam’s face that has Zayn sketching its outline every time he puts pencil to paper? It is a flawless face, but Zayn’s never been the type to go for smooth, eggshell perfection: he likes the rough, raw insides of humanity; he likes being able to spill someone’s guts when he paints them; he likes wrinkles and rolls and asymmetry, he _does –_ or he did until he met Liam.

   Maybe he just needs to believe that if he explores every inch of his features enough times, he will begin to understand him.

   Because he doesn’t. Understand, that is. Which is an indescribably frustrating experience for someone who is used to taking one glance at a painting or a movie scene or a work of literature and picking out every single meaning worth finding within minutes. Zayn knows people – he’s studied them through pictures and words his entire life, other people’s perceptions of them, sure, but a thousand artists can’t be wrong, right? He’s never met someone he can’t figure out.

   And then one day this boy, with saturated-sweet brown eyes and a haircut straight from the pages of a pop music magazine, stumbled across him hiding in the library with a Spiderman comic book tucked into The Great Gatsby,and before Zayn knew what was happening they’d whiled away the entirety of the lunch hour talking about superheroes, confiding to each other that they had both of them been at least twelve before they’d given up hope of ever developing their own powers; of being extraordinary.

   ‘Well, there’s nothing ordinary about you as far as I’m concerned, mate,’ Liam said earnestly, staring him straight in the eye in a way that from anybody else would have made Zayn feel incredibly uncomfortable, but from him just made him feel floaty and strange and safe. ‘I’ve seen your artwork upstairs – that stuff’s incredible, seriously.’

   Zayn blushed. He never blushed. But he did now, and he had no idea why except that the idea of Liam looking at his art, at his soul slashed across a canvas, was fucking terrifying. And the idea that he liked what he saw made him feel practically euphoric. ‘Thank you.’

   ‘Yeah, and Niall likes it too,’ Liam added easily. Then he checked his watch, and laughed. ‘Wow, I completely lost track of time, I was supposed to meet him half an hour ago. Well, it was nice talking to you, Zayn.’

   ‘Who’s Niall?’ Zayn blurted out, immediately before he shut his eyes briefly and prayed to the floorboards under the beige carpet to swallow him whole.

   Liam laughed again, his eyes crinkling, as if the idea that Zayn didn’t know everyone in the school yet – he’d only transferred a few months ago, when his parents moved down to London and thought it would be a good idea to take him too, setting him down in this strange new city where no one ever looked up while they were walking and his classmates called him ‘Bin Laden’ behind his back – was hilarious, the equivalent of an alien not understanding the point of a pencil sharpener.

   ‘He’s my boyfriend,’ he said, after what felt like forever.

   After what felt like a second forever, Zayn recovered from what had felt like a punch in the chest. Recovered in the sense that he remembered how to breathe, anyway.

   Now, Zayn lets out a harsh breath and stabs his pen into his painting, right where Liam’s eyes are. Then he feels terrible, balls it up in his fist and throws it in the bin.

   But now he can’t stop picturing him without eyes; can’t shake the cold, dead weight in his stomach. He has to be reminded that this isn’t just delusion. He has to know that he has more of Liam than just his image, seared into the backs of his eyes; that he has at least a piece of his soul too.

   He sends him a tiny, unobtrusive text. **_Can I see you?_**

   His mother would always tell him off when he would ask _Can I leave the table; Can I go to the park; Can I use your paintbrushes?_

   _It’s_ may, she would tell him, gently poking his cheek. _You can do anything you want to. What you’re asking for is my permission, not affirmation._

   But with Liam, that’s exactly what he’s asking for.

   About eighteen minutes later, he gets a reply. **_If thats wat u want. 2morow, lunch, usual place?_**

   He’s sweet, the way he asks, as if Zayn is in control of any aspect of their relationship. Or lack thereof. **_That sounds perfect._**

   Eleven minutes. **_I suppoz u’d no ;)_**

   Zayn swallows hard, and forces himself to put the phone down. When Liam starts calling him perfect, that’s his cue to back away. Perfection is part of the problem, at least according to him. This is his gentle reminder to Zayn that, whatever it is they have, it can never be more.

   That it is perfect just the way it is.

 

*

Zayn’s been at this school for six months now and he still doesn’t know who half the people in his year are. He’s on first name terms with everyone in his classes, but that’s about it, and he still spends all his spare time either in the library or the art room. It’s not a bad life, but he does pretty much live for the days when Liam agrees to meet with him.

   Their ‘usual place’ is the supply cupboard in the art room, the tiny bare lightbulb illuminating every single dust mote so it feels like they are surrounded by speck-sized fairies cloaking them in warmth and safety. They always start off standing, kidding themselves it will be quick, and then end up crouched on the hard, paint-stained floor, their legs cramping, pressed against separate cabinets so as to never close the distance between their bodies. It’s one of Liam’s unspoken conditions for these snatched moments, and Zayn has nothing to say in his defence so he takes it.

   They do nothing wrong. It is only ever talking, about art (Zayn) and football (Liam) and comics (both), exchanging ideas thick and fast and yet something so calm about their quiet, small space. Zayn knows why he needs it: they’re the most stimulating conversations he’s ever had with another human being; so simple and yet so full of understanding and empathy and connection. He doesn’t know what’s in it for Liam, though.

   Well. Occasionally he’ll be able to prise some shard of information from him pertaining to Niall that suggests something beyond eternal domestic bliss. Sometimes Liam will, unprompted, sigh _I wish I could talk about this kind of stuff with him. He’s always so_ focused, _he tries so hard to be golden boy that he forgets to be normal._ Sometimes Zayn will say something like _You know you don’t have to talk to me_ and Liam will nudge his knee with his and murmur _You know I want to. You keep me sane. I love Niall, but he forgot how to give me this a long time ago._

   This is all the incentive that Zayn needs to dream. His wildest, and yet seemingly oh-so-attainable fantasy: Liam bursting into the cupboard one day and gathering him up in his strong arms, kissing him all over his face and saying he loves him, that he’s always loved him, that he was only ever with Niall because he thought that they fit.

   But then Zayn will lean in too close, misjudging, and Liam will gently push him away. Then Zayn will say something complimentary or hopeful and Liam will laugh it off. Then the light will flicker and Liam will look away from his face with a shake of his head and a _You are just too perfect to be real, mate._

   He never says beautiful. Beautiful is positive; a word he’ll use to describe Niall from time to time, if he’s in a dreamy mood. Perfect isn’t positive. Perfect, coming from him, is a warning. It’s threatening. It’s poisonous. It’s hateful.

   Zayn can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started to see the negative connotations behind Liam’s constant ‘perfect’s. Maybe it was around the time Liam told him about his first boyfriend, a Hollister model, who dumped him for being _too ugly_. Or the time Zayn watched him rip a page out of a magazine he was reading because the actor it featured looked _way too perfect, like a fucking statue_. Or maybe it was when Liam told him he felt safe with Niall because _he’s_ _just the right amount of beautiful. But not perfect_. A brief, unsubtle once-over of Zayn. _I couldn’t handle perfect._

   Zayn had eventually gotten the hint. Still, in the interests of honesty, he’d confessed his love for Liam to him a little while ago. His exact words had been _I want to kiss you._

   Liam’s expression had been interesting to observe, and even in his worked-up, stressed-out state, Zayn had still found himself wishing he had a pencil on him. It was an odd mix of trepidation, confusion…and some kind of hunger.

   To his credit, this was one thing he didn’t try to get out of by laughing. Instead, after a long, long time, he quietly said _Would it be enough to kiss my hand?_

   Zayn had nearly been the one who’d laughed at that. It was such a bizarre attempt at compromise, and such a strange concept to be offered to him, as if Liam were royalty, or some sort of deity whose magic would rub off of on Zayn if he held his knuckles to his lips.

   But it was as close as Liam would ever let him come to him, and so Zayn took it. And now, every time they meet, their conversations always close with Liam awkwardly offering Zayn his hand, and Zayn kissing it, like a sad, surreal, inverted fairytale. Liam uses hand sanitizer that smells like lemon drops, and his palm is always warm but his fingers are always cold.

   ‘Do you want this?’ Liam asks, as he does every time they do this weird little ritual. There’s concern in his voice, and Zayn doesn’t know if the anxiety is induced by the thought of him saying yes – or no.

   Either way, he always just nods silently, with a small smile. And so Liam allows him to hold his hand, and kiss him the only way he’ll ever be able to, and, most importantly of all, he lets Zayn love him, never holding it over his head, or running from him, or ordering him to stop.

   So how can Zayn ever ask for anything more?

 

*

The only person in the school (for various reasons, he doesn’t really count Liam) who Zayn would consider his actual friend, is Harry Styles, a boy in his art class who he often pairs up with for projects. He’s a budding photographer, and not a bad one either. They’ve been working on a series entitled Strong Like Man, which mainly involves Harry arranging Barbie dolls and G.I. Joes in strange sexual positions (both homo and hetero) and Zayn painting hair ribbons spilling as blood out of miniature battle scenes, and flowers composed of cables and wire. They share a slightly pretentious love of symbolism and an appreciation for pastel shades, and although they rarely speak outside of school, and hardly ever about personal things, Zayn likes him a lot, and he thinks the feeling’s mutual.

   Today, when they’ve finally finished their collage, covered in paper cuts, they slip out of their room and end up on the communal school roof, lazily basking in the lukewarm sunshine, Zayn sketching Liam as usual and Harry aiming a Polaroid camera haphazardly at anything with wings. It’s what they always do when they inevitably finish up early and don’t fancy sitting in a stuffy space staring at their phones and recycling the CO2 of six other people. It’s peaceful and quiet and just about the opposite of what Zayn has with Liam, and yet, in many ways, equally idyllic. They always end up losing track of time up here, but he doesn’t mind.

   Then today, out of the blue, Harry says ‘Do you mind if I take a picture of you?’

   The request startles Zayn so much that he completely fucks up the line of Liam’s jaw. A wave of irritation crashes over him, and he grips his pad and breathes deeply until it passes. He’s always had trouble with anger management. He can’t take being interrupted when he’s drawing. He hates the loss of control. But, after a minute or two, he deems himself in good enough condition to answer. ‘Why?’

   ‘For my boyfriend,’ Harry says simply. ‘He thinks you’re pretty and I like giving him presents. It’s not as weird as it sounds,’ he adds hastily. ‘But I figure you should know what I’m going to do with it if you let me take it, which is let Lou blow it up, frame it, and hang it above his bed. Not in a weird way,’ he says again, as if completely aware of exactly how weird it sounds. ‘He just…well, he collects pretty things.’

   Zayn frowns. ‘And you’re OK with that? Him thinking I’m pretty?’

   Harry blinks at him innocuously. ‘Of course. You are. He has a good eye. Anyway…’ he blushes in a way that’s quite sweet. ‘He says I’ll always be the best thing in his collection.’ Almost immediately though, he snaps out of it and winks. ‘Bet you’d be a close second though. So, is that OK?’

   Zayn isn’t sure if it is. He has to think about it. He decides to go for diversionary tactics. ‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.’

   ‘Seriously?’ Harry grins mischievously. ‘And there I was thinking we were the power couple of this school. Just goes to show you can’t get too complacent. His name’s Louis Tomlinson? He runs the school paper? No? Alright, well it’s probably good that you don’t know him because everyone who does either falls head-over-heels in love with him or actively wants to murder him.’ He smiles to himself. ‘I wonder which one you’d be.’

   Zayn doesn’t really want to find out. Still, he decides to concede. What harm could it do if some random guy has a photo of him? He still thinks it’s ridiculous, but then, his entire life is pretty ridiculous at the moment. He glances down at his ruined drawing. Case in point. ‘OK. Sure. You can take my photo.’

   Harry lights up like a Christmas tree. ‘Yay! OK, let’s do it.’

   ‘Alright.’ Self-consciously, Zayn’s hand goes to his hair. ‘Umm…what do you want me to do?’

   Harry shrugs, bringing his camera up over his face. ‘Whatever it is you normally do that makes you look like a royally commissioned painting?’

   Zayn rolls his eyes, masking his discomfort. Since he met Liam, he’s grown to hate people referencing the fact that he’s attractive. Hate himself. With difficulty, he arranges his face into something that feels normal and looks just above the lense of Harry’s camera. Then, at the last minute, he can’t take the intimacy and looks up at the sky instead.

   The flash goes off, and within a second a small black square whirrs its way out of the instrument. Harry takes it carefully and rests it face-down on his knee, then gives Zayn a grateful smile. ‘Much appreciated, mate.’

   ‘Sorry I looked away,’ Zayn mumbles, because he knows from Harry’s occasional gripes how expensive those frames are and he shouldn’t have let him waste one on him.

   ‘Hey.’ Lightly, Harry touches his hand. ‘It’s gonna look amazing. You just get back to drawing and I’ll show it to you when it’s ready, yeah?’

   Zayn’s heartbeat feels erratic. He returns to his paper, erasing the crooked beginnings of Liam. He’s about to start over – when something else occurs to him and, as subtly as he can, he starts to sketch Harry instead.

   He instantly starts having fun, in a way he hasn’t for a while. He’s forgotten why he used to love it so much. He loves trying to capture the soft flick of Harry’s curls under his ear. He loves getting to grips with this new forehead; nose; chin. He loves how long it takes him to satisfyingly capture the sparkle in Harry’s green eyes. It’s still not his usual style because Harry sure as hell is beautiful, probably objectively as beautiful as Liam – but it’s still different, and there is something wonderfully unconventional about Harry, with his long hair and open shirts, and he’s adorable and carefree and artistic and Zayn’s hand moves like lightning trying to fit it all in.

   Just as he’s about to allow himself to be pleased with the finished product, Harry clears his throat, and when Zayn glances up he looks a little dazed. ‘Umm, do you want to see?’

   ‘Sure,’ Zayn says, and Harry shows him the photo.

   It’s a good photo. Zayn’s glad of that: he doesn’t have to feel guilty, plus Harry won’t insist on taking another one. The light catches his upturned eyes, making him look almost holy, and the tilt of his head makes his jawline look as sharp as a butter knife. It’s black and white – of course it is, it’s Harry – and the lack of colour suits him, accentuating the darkness of his hair and eyes, his skin colour translating into a soft, glittery shade of grey. ‘Cool. Is it alright for you?’

   Harry raises an eyebrow, still looking gobsmacked. ‘You’re literally an angel, mate.’ He grins. ‘I don’t know if I want him to have it now; it might bump me down to second best.’

   Zayn’s gut clenches. ‘Sorry.’

   He squints at him. ‘Zayn, I’m kidding. I mean, not about the photo, it’s gorgeous, but Lou and I love each other. Love’s more important than beauty.’ He smiles. ‘Of course, I am now absolutely 100% in love with you, but we’ll see what we can do about that another time.’

   Zayn is about to ask him exactly what he means by that, but that’s when the bell rings, Harry grabs his stuff, presses a kiss to his cheek like a sweet sticker, and runs off.

   Zayn is so sick of not understanding things. Stubbornly he decides to forget all about it.

   But he does sign off on his drawing and slip it into Harry’s locker. In case Louis does end up needing a reminder that Harry could never be anything less than the best thing in his collection. Harry is sweet, and sincere, and loving.

   Zayn is just sad, and perfect.

 

*

‘Zayn, we’ve talked about this, you can’t call me.’

   Zayn flinches. ‘I just wanted to tell you something funny that happened today.’

   ‘It’s fine. Niall’s not here. Just…generally. What is it?’

   Zayn doesn’t really understand why Liam’s so cagey about Niall finding out that they’re friends. It’s probably something to do with the whole ‘perfect’ thing – with Liam it usually is – but Niall doesn’t need to know about the hand-kissing. Surely he would understand that Liam likes having a fellow geek to hang out with? Even if it is a geek whose glasses make him, as Liam once said, look like ‘a sexy secretary’.

   Zayn gives him a brief summary of his interaction with Harry.

   By the time he’s done, he can feel Liam’s disapproval through the phone. It’s radiating off of him in waves, like smoke off of ice. ‘And you _let_ him? Zayn, those two are really weird. They have, like, an open relationship or something? I don’t know, you should be careful.’

   ‘A what?’

   ‘Basically they’re dating but they can sleep with anybody they want.’ He snorts. ‘Which, if you ask me, does _not_ sound like dating. They’re both really promiscuous as well; they’re probably ridden with disease as well as Daddy issues.’

   ‘Hey.’ Zayn doesn’t like Liam talking about Harry like this, like sex is all there is to him. It makes him remember what Harry said: _Love’s more important than beauty._ ‘Maybe they think love is more important than sex.’

   ‘Well, let’s hope they still think that when they’ve dropped out of school to be prostitutes.’

   ‘Liam!’

  ‘You really need to stay away from them, Zayn, who knows what twisted game they’re trying to pull –’

   ‘It was a fucking photo.’

   ‘Yeah,’ Liam says darkly. ‘That’s how it starts.’

   ‘For God’s sake,’ Zayn mutters. ‘And it was a nice photo as well, not that you care.’

   ‘Well obviously it was, Zayn, you’re fucking perfect aren’t you?’

   ‘Can you please stop calling me that?’

   Pause. ‘What?’

   ‘Please,’ Zayn says, quieter now, an apology mixed in with the plea. ‘Stop calling me that. I know what you mean when you say it and it fucking hurts, Liam. Why can’t you just say I’m beautiful or…or even pretty, or just don’t comment on my appearance at all?’

   Liam’s voice comes out low. ‘Is that what he calls you?’

   ‘What? Liam, this isn’t about Harry, this is about us –’

   ‘There’s no _us,_ Zayn. Christ, don’t say stuff like that. We’ve never even done anything –’

   Zayn’s eyes are starting to sting. ‘Is that what that means to you? Nothing?’

   ‘What _what_ means to me?’

   Zayn opens his mouth – but nothing comes out. He doesn’t want to say it. It sounds too stupid: _when I kiss your hand in the supply closet._ He knows it sounds like nothing. So he just whispers ‘Don’t do this to me, Liam.’

   ‘Zayn…’ He sounds almost desperate, like he’s really trying to say the right thing. ‘Don’t be sad. You can…come over to my house, if you want.’

   Zayn’s breath catches in his throat. ‘I can see you?’

   Pause. Liam’s voice cracks a little when he replies ‘Yeah, you can see me.’

   So Zayn listens to his address and then takes the bus to his house, and they sit on Liam’s X-Men bedspread with half an arm of distance between them and Liam says _You’d be Spiderman because he’s reckless and creative and he cares_ and he visibly stops himself from saying _too much,_ so Zayn replies _You’d be Batman because he’s strong and silent and he never takes credit even when he’s saved the world._ Then they watch a couple of X-Men movies and every now and then Liam will hesitantly hold out his hand and Zayn will kiss it and after a couple of times it gets even more ridiculous than it usually is but he still wants it more than anything else in the world.

   And Liam never once tells him he’s perfect.

   Zayn doesn’t stay over, although it’s astronomically late by the time he leaves. At the door, Liam seems like he’s about to hug him, but then changes his mind. Instead, he says ‘See you at school. And listen, I’m sorry I said that about Harry, I know he’s your friend, but I also know Louis and he really is bad news. Just trust me on this, OK?’

   Zayn nods, kisses Liam’s hand one last time, and then leaves.

 

*

Zayn is sketching a self-portrait in charcoal under a tree when Louis approaches him.

   He doesn’t know who it is at first, is only aware of a tiny, pixie-faced boy in a silky black scoop neck that shows off his tattooed collarbones suddenly standing in front of him, blocking out all his light.

   Zayn looks up at him, with a glare he could just about pass off for squinting. ‘Can I help you?’

   The boy’s face breaks out into a massive, shining grin. ‘Oh my God, Harry wasn’t kidding about you not knowing who I am.’ He holds out his hand, and when Zayn takes it he hauls him without warning to his feet.

   Zayn just about manages to hold onto his materials, and keeps scowling suspiciously, although he’s pretty sure he knows now who this boy is – and what Harry meant about love or murder. ‘You’re Louis, aren’t you?’

   The boy bows extravagantly. ‘Got it in one. Louis William Tomlinson, at your service. My apologies for interrupting you while you’re – as my adorably pretentious boyfriend would put it – ‘in the zone’, but I don’t see you around much and I need a favour from you.’

   Oh God. Zayn wishes Liam would appear from nowhere like an actual Batman and fight Louis off before Zayn agrees to another creepy boyfriend thing. ‘What is it?’

   ‘Well, in a nutshell…’ Louis flings an arm around Zayn’s neck, nearly knocking him over. ‘Young Harold and I have a sort of competition, if you will, whereby we each try to outdo each other in gifts. I know, fucking nauseating, right? Anyway, right now, with that picture of you – absolutely gorgeous, by the way, congratulations on hitting every branch in the beauty tree on the way down there mate – he’s winning. Especially since you threw in that drawing – also gorgeous, and thank you for that. Anyway, I figured the only way I could possibly win out on this one is to get him…you.’

   Silence. Zayn feels like he’s missing something. ‘Me?’

   ‘It’s not as weird as it –’

   ‘Yeah, that’s what Harry said.’

   He laughs. ‘I mean it’s not _sleazy.’_ He wriggles his eyebrows. ‘Unless you want it to be. No, I just mean come around to my house and hang out with us. Harry really likes you, he’s always complaining about how he never sees you outside class, and frankly it’s enough to severely dent a man’s ego after a while so how’s about you show up at my place and we pretend his delirious happiness is my doing, yeah?’

   Zayn stares at him. ‘So…your boyfriend likes me and your response is to…put us in the same room?’

   Louis shrugs. ‘Sure. Harry and I have this weird deal a lot of people don’t understand where we want each other to be happy. Besides, I know he loves me and he knows the feeling’s mutual. We’ve discussed it. So what if I think you’re fit and he thinks you hung the moon? So long as you’re fine with it, I assure you no one is going to get their feelings hurt.’ He winks, the way Harry did, when he said he’d be second. ‘Might even be fun.’

   Zayn’s expression must be indicative of how he feels right now, because he quickly changes tack. ‘Not in any way you don’t want it to be, I swear. It’s Harry’s present, which means it will be absolutely all about what you want out of the evening. I can get popcorn…or chocolate…we can watch the X Factor…seriously, it’s all about you, I just want you in the same room as him so I can call it a gift. You in?’

   After a minute’s thought, Zayn nods. He’s still entirely unsure about Louis, but if it’ll make Harry happy he doesn’t mind. And the fact that Louis thinks the perfect present for Harry will be his company is…well, kind of flattering, far more than the photo was. Harry genuinely likes him. He talks to Louis about how much he likes him. It’s a nice thought. ‘OK.’

   ‘Fucking brilliant!’ And Louis kisses him, right on the mouth. It’s brief but it nearly gives Zayn a heart attack, and when Louis pulls away, brings a white ribbon out of his bag and hands it to him saying ‘Wear that on your wrist, yeah? Just for showmanship,’ Zayn’s head is spinning far too fast to do anything other than take it and watch Louis patter away, like there are wings sprouting out of his trainers.

   Zayn tastes his lipgloss all the way back to class. And he spends the rest of the afternoon drawing doodles of Hermes in the margins of his English notebook.

 

*

As per Louis’s instructions via text (Zayn wondered what excuse he’d used to get his number off of Harry), Zayn shows up at his house at seven in the evening, in his usual all-black attire, save for the white ribbon around his wrist, which he asked his sister to tie into a bow. When she asked why, he told her it was a trend. She told him she would not be held responsible for him being beaten up, and he agreed.

   Louis answers the door in a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show off his other tattoos, among which Zayn spots a dagger, a rope and a compass. ‘Nautical,’ he comments.

   Louis grins. ‘Harry’s idea. Haven’t you seen his?’

   Zayn shakes his head. He’s only ever seen Harry in long-sleeved baggy jumpers. The idea of them hiding ink is surprising. ‘He doesn’t seem the type.’

   Louis laughs. ‘He’s the one who persuaded me, mate. Come on, get in, I’ve been riling him up all evening. STYLES!’ he bellows as he pulls Zayn inside and shuts the door. ‘YOUR SURPRISE IS HERE!’

   ‘IT BETTER NOT BE ANOTHER STRIPPER!’

   ‘LOUIS TOMLINSON DOES NOT REUSE IDEAS!’

   ‘NO, BUT HE DOES HAVE A TENDENCY TO SOUND LIKE A TWAT!’

   Despite himself, Zayn giggles. He hasn’t seen – or more accurately, heard – this side of Harry before. He’s always been gentle with Zayn, as if he’s coaxing a wild animal out of his den. He wonders if he’ll retreat into that persona when he discovers that it’s him. He hopes not. He kind of likes this Harry.

   ‘I’LL BRING IT UP NOW!’ Louis yells. ‘IS YOUR BLINDFOLD ON?’

   Zayn shoots him a quizzical look.

   ‘I blindfolded him about two hours ago,’ Louis explains, offhand. ‘To add to the suspense. Don’t worry, he’s cool with it. Right, let’s go make his decade.’ He grabs Zayn’s hand and yanks him up the stairs, taking them two at a time so Zayn’s longer legs match him stride for stride.

   They find Harry sitting cross-legged on Louis’s double bed with a band of black velvet over his eyes and his hands folded in his lap. When he’s finished processing that image Zayn glances around Louis’s room, and sees what Harry meant about collecting pretty things. His walls are adorned with hanging ornaments, sequined scarves and snapshots of scenery that must be Harry’s. And there, above his bed, is the picture of Zayn, perfectly parallel to the portrait he drew of Harry.

   Louis leans over and greets his detained boyfriend with a soft kiss on the side of his mouth, their fringes falling together into a single lock. ‘Hey, love. Do you want one last guess at what I got for you?’

   ‘Lou,’ Harry mumbles through a smile. ‘You’re scaring me a little. Who’s behind you?’

   ‘Ah, I can see you will wait no longer. In that case…’ With one fluid motion, Louis reaches behind Harry’s head and undoes the tie.

   When it falls away Harry’s gazing up at him fondly, blinking in the light – then his eyes shift and land on Zayn.

   His jaw drops. ‘Lou?’

   ‘You got me a picture so I got you the real thing,’ Louis says, grinning. ‘I might have had to tell him you like him to get him here, though.’

   Harry groans. _‘Lou.’_ He smiles shyly at Zayn, tucking his hair behind his ear, suddenly looking about six. ‘I, umm, didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to scare you. Unfortunately Lou has no concept of fear except when it comes to ladybirds –’

   ‘Hey,’ Louis protests. ‘Those fuckers are creepy.’

   ‘So I’m _so_ sorry if he in anyway coerced, threatened, bribed –’

   ‘It’s OK,’ Zayn assures him, holding out his beribboned wrist. ‘I wanted to come.’ He considers, then tries again. ‘I wanted to be your present.’

   Harry’s entire face becomes an exploding star. It’s glorious. He hitches himself up on his knees to whisper something into Louis’s ear, who then turns to smile ruefully at Zayn. ‘Keep in mind you’re welcome to say no – although I can’t imagine why anyone would – but he wants to know if he can kiss you.’

   Zayn falters, steps backwards. Instantly, Harry’s expression falls into concern and guilt, and he holds out a hand in apology. ‘I didn’t mean to…it was a stupid thing to say…’

   ‘No, it’s OK,’ Zayn replies, collecting himself. ‘It’s just…’

   ‘Liam,’ Louis states calmly.

   Harry digs him in the ribs. ‘Lou, don’t, that’s his business –’

   _What?_ ‘How do you know about Liam?’ Zayn’s universe is caving in. Do people _know?_ Do people know what he does?

   The walls are closing. Does Niall know?

   ‘We don’t know anything,’ Harry says hastily. ‘It’s just stupid gossip cos some of Liam’s friends saw his number in your phone. No one actually thinks anything, they just have nothing better to do with their time than speculate on other people’s sex lives.’ He pulls a quick face at Louis, then returns his full attention to Zayn. ‘I promise, we don’t actually know anything.’

   ‘So what is going on with you two?’ Louis asks, folding his arms and tilting his head like a game show host.

   _‘Lou.’_

   ‘He doesn’t have to tell me, I’m just curious. Something tells me you wouldn’t be here tonight if there was something serious going on between you two, but whenever I see you guys in the same room you’re always giving him heart eyes. So what is it? Is he cheating on Niall with you?’

   _‘No.’_ For some reason the idea of anyone thinking Liam would cheat offends him. But, seeing as he’s in this deep, he decides to tell them the truth. ‘He lets…I kiss his hand.’

   Harry frowns. ‘Come again?’

   Hesitantly, Zayn steps closer, takes the other boy’s still-outstretched hand, and brings it to his lips, holding the kiss for as long as he would with Liam (around six seconds). Harry’s fingers are longer than Liam’s, and his palms wider. He smells like ink and suspending agents. Every inch of him is warm.

   He can feel himself blushing foolishly by the time he pulls away. It’s OK to do it to Liam: Liam understands, and it was his idea in the first place. Harry will probably think he’s a complete creep.

   But when he looks up, he meets green eyes that are damp, and when he tries to pull away Harry holds on tight.

   Louis, at least, looks appropriately freaked out. ‘What was that?’

   Zayn shrugs, although his throat feels tight too. ‘It’s all he’ll let me have.’

   _‘Let_ you?’ Harry says incredulously, blinking hard. ‘Zayn, that’s…that’s worship, and it’s dangerous. It’s like he’s fucking trained you to think that’s all you’re good for. I mean, how does he treat you normally? Does he say anything bad to you?’

   ‘No,’ Zayn retorts defensively. ‘Just…that I’m perfect.’ He looks down at his feet. ‘That he can’t be with me because I’m too perfect.’

   Silence.

   ‘Well that’s the biggest crock of bullshit I’ve ever heard,’ Louis says mildly.

   ‘It’s worse than that,’ Harry murmurs. ‘Zayn, he’s making you feel guilty about your own beauty, do you not see how fucked up that is? He’s making it your fault, _your fault,_ that he’s too intimidated by you to let you stand next to him in case anyone sees how ugly he really is. He lets you worship him because it makes him feel good and he gives you nothing in case you realise how much of him you could take if you wanted. That is fucking evil.’

   He still hasn’t let go. Zayn wants him to so badly. He’s rooted to the spot, entranced by the warmth and the strength of his grip; the weight of the outrage in his voice. If Harry would just care less then he could run away, convince himself this night never happened and call Liam and tell him he was right about them and that he’ll never go back.

   But Harry holds on. ‘I’m sorry. I know that hurts. But you don’t need negativity like that in your life, Zayn.’

   Zayn’s voice breaks. ‘I don’t have anything else.’

   Louis sighs exasperatedly. ‘Mate, what have I been trying to tell you this whole time. You’ve got _us._ Harry’s been crazy about you since you showed up at our school and…well, I’m sure I’ll get used to you.’ Pause. ‘Joking, by the way. Liam was right about that, at least, you are perfect.’ He ruffles Harry’s hair. ‘Just like this one.’

   ‘Can I kiss you now?’ Harry blurts out. ‘Please? I just…don’t want to leave it like that.’ He gestures to their hands, still clasped. ‘Let me give you something back.’

   And that might just be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to Zayn in his life so what can he do but close his eyes and let Harry kiss him? And in the end it’s wonderful, like everything else about Harry: soft and warm and tasting like mint chewing gum, and all the little hooks clawing at Zayn’s heart suddenly let up a little.

   Then the second Harry pulls back Louis growls ‘My turn’, grabs him, and slams their mouths together and this time it’s different: this time it’s fireworks and nicotine and force and when they break apart Harry throws himself at Louis before he can even draw breath and Zayn watches while their lips move together like they’ve learnt a dance off by heart and falling into it is as easy as breathing.

   And Zayn never would have thought it possible to be quite this happy.

 

*

He stays the night and they kiss each other for ages, sometimes separately, sometimes all at once, and when Zayn’s lips are swollen and his pupils are blown and he doesn’t think he can take anymore they stop, and make popcorn, and hold hands while they watch a couple of Harry’s favourite romantic comedies, which Zayn and Louis initially sigh at – until they get even more into it than him, with Zayn crying at some point during almost every scene and Louis swearing at the screen whenever the protagonists fuck up their motivation.

   They all sleep together in Louis’s bed, tangled, giving each other goodnight pecks until they’re all giggly and giddy, and when Zayn wakes up Harry’s made pancakes and while Louis snores softly on they sit in the middle of the floor and Harry feeds Zayn his breakfast piece-by-piece, kissing him in between bites.

   ‘I didn’t know,’ Zayn confesses after a while. ‘That you liked me, I mean.’

   Harry smiles affectionately. ‘No offence, babe, but you’re a little obtuse. Remember that art project we made on Valentine’s Day?’

   Zayn blushes at the thought. ‘You cut out all those little paper hearts to prove that monogamy didn’t have anything to do with love?’

   ‘And then…’

   ‘I assumed you were giving them to me because you realised you now had a hundred paper hearts you didn’t have a clue what to do with.’

   Harry groans. ‘I dread to think what you did with them.’

   ‘Actually, I gave them to Liam.’

   ‘Oh my God, _no.’_

   ‘Then he gave them to Niall.’

   ‘Jesus,’ Harry grins. ‘The stories those little bastards could tell. What did Niall do with them?’

   ‘Shoved them somewhere in his locker, probably.’

   Harry’s eyes glint mischievously. ‘I’ll have to liberate them one of these days.’

   ‘Seriously?’

   ‘Yeah, Louis taught me how to pick locks. I’ll get him to show you too, it’s an awesome skill to have.’ He chucks him under the chin. ‘See, there’s benefits to hanging out with us besides making out.’

   ‘You know, I did like you,’ Zayn tells him. ‘A lot. I just didn’t…think about you like that.’

   Harry nods earnestly. ‘I understand. It sounds like Liam messed you up a little. I really hate him for that.’ He brightens. ‘I’m sure Louis would beat him up if you wanted him too.’

   ‘Who am I beating up?’ a sleepy voice drifts over to them from the bed as Harry’s (and Zayn’s now as well, he supposed) boyfriend blinks himself awake. ‘My goodness Harold, you certainly are smitten. You never make _me_ pancakes.’

   ‘I made you them last week!’

   ‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that.’

   Harry rolls his eyes happily. ‘Come here, you idiot. You’ve got some kisses to catch up on.’

   ‘Wow, there really are benefits to this threesome thing.’

   So they kiss and eat and lounge around like kings, dizzy with decadence, until it’s time to go to school.

   When Zayn checks his phone, he finds three texts from Liam.

   **_Want 2 cum over?_**

**_Were r u??_ **

**_R u ok talk 2 me!!!_ **

   ‘Don’t you dare reply,’ Louis asserts, snatching his phone away. ‘Unless you’re gonna tell him to fuck off.’

   Harry gently takes it from him, then gives him back to Zayn. ‘We don’t snatch, sweetheart, remember? Although I do agree with the sentiment.’

   ‘You’re right,’ Zayn agrees, slipping it back into his pocket. ‘I’m too happy for him right now.’

   ‘You’re too good for him ever,’ Louis corrects huffily.

   Harry slips a calming arm through both of theirs, and they walk to school together, grinning stupidly at each other and making occasional lazy remarks on nothing.

   Everyone stares at them when they walk in. Zayn supposes he can’t blame them: he would have too. The school’s power couple, widely rumoured to be deviants, walking in with an extra guy in tow? It’s the stuff of dreams for those who care about that kind of thing. With that in mind, Zayn tries not to care.

   He stops trying when he sees Liam and Niall, hand in hand, waiting outside Economics. Niall glances in their direction, then lets his gaze wander off to more interesting pastures. Liam, though, Liam looks like he’s been hit in the face with a brick.

   Then angry.

   It’s only Harry’s arm winding around his waist that stops Zayn falling to his knees. He opens his mouth, although whether to defend himself or beg for forgiveness he’ll never be quite sure.

   ‘Well,’ Louis abruptly announces to the general public. ‘This is where I get off. Bye love,’ he says to Harry, kissing his forehead. ‘Bye other love,’ he adds to Zayn, just as enthusiastically.

   Then, to the shock of absolutely everyone in the corridor, most of all Zayn, he calmly kisses his hand.

   Now Zayn’s knees actually do buckle, and Harry pulls him close, taking his weight on himself as Louis breaks the kiss, looks him right in the eye and says ‘You’re fucking perfect and I love you for it. Bye babes.’

   ‘Bye,’ Harry calls after him cheerfully. ‘Come on, love,’ he tells Zayn, and manages to haul him upstairs to the art room one-armed, everyone still gaping at them like morons.

   ‘This is how it’s going to be for the rest of your life, you know,’ Harry remarks, when the feeling has finally come back into Zayn’s legs and he’s walking normally again.

   ‘I know,’ Zayn replies.

   The weird thing is, he’s actually OK with that. After everything else that’s happened to him, he can live with this. He can live with Louis and Harry.

   ‘I love you,’ he says quietly. It’s the first time he’s ever said it to someone properly. He never even got up the courage to tell Liam.

   Harry stops them in the middle of the corridor, grasps Zayn’s chin, and presses a bruising, beaming kiss against his mouth. ‘Back at you, beautiful.’

   ‘Perfect,’ Zayn corrects cheekily, bopping their noses together. ‘Right?’

   ‘Right,’ Harry agrees, looking at him like he’s his favourite toy, his child and his lover all rolled into one. ‘Perfect.’

   And the weird thing is that when he says it, it actually sounds like something good.

   Or even something great.


	2. Niall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you asked for another chapter so here it is :)  
> I didn't add any extra tags but if any of you think they're needed just tell me! Hope you like it x

_Niall_

Niall is going out of his mind.

   Liam always does this; always leaves him hanging, as if there’s a thread running right through Niall’s chest that Liam has wrapped around his finger, and every now and then he’ll pull Niall against him for the hell of it – only to wander away, leaving the string pulled tight and Niall’s heart aching so hard he wants to cough it up.

   It’s odd because right now they’re actually closer than they’ve been in days. Niall finally found some free time between football practise and guitar lessons and he immediately phoned his practically estranged boyfriend to invite him over.

   Liam dithered for a little bit, clearly an effort to pay Niall back for being so busy these past couple of weeks, but eventually he agreed.

   And now they’re on Niall’s bed, legs linked, and Niall’s chin is tilted upward from Liam’s shoulder, his eyes as wide as he can make them go, that look that used to make Liam melt…and Liam won’t kiss him. He’s not even looking at him, just staring stubbornly at the screen where their favourite thriller, _Unknown,_ is gearing up the suspenseful music while Liam Neeson wanders around a deserted German subway station.

   Niall can feel his cheeks starting to burn. He can’t stand it when Liam pulls this trick. He won’t stand it. ‘Liam.’

   ‘What?’ Liam says evenly, eyes still fixed on the movie.

   ‘Are we going to make out or not?’

   ‘I’m trying to watch the movie.’

   ‘We’ve seen it six times. There’s only so much you can gain from multiple viewings.’

   But Liam’s jaw is set, his body tense and shut off. Niall knows this frozen dance well, and he’s bloody bored of it. It’s not like Liam doesn’t like kissing him. Niall can get him hard just by sucking his tongue. He just likes to punish him. He loves his games, does Liam Payne.

   Niall used to think that Liam was simple. Sweet. Uncomplicated. He hadn’t known him very well until they’d been made form prefects of a Year 9 class during their first week of 6th form. Somewhere between devising ‘getting to know you games’, researching Martin Luther King and Laverne Cox quotes for black history month, and making a slideshow of kittens just because, they managed to fall in love. At least, that was how Niall rationalised it at the time.

   Now he doesn’t know what it was. Because this isn’t the boy who made his heart beat faster when he wiped a streak of mud off his face after football practise; the boy who giggled at his stupid jokes and blushed whenever he touched him; the boy who had to support himself against a desk the first time Niall kissed him, in their empty classroom after their charges had filed out. Niall could remember sensing the judder as Liam’s legs went weak and his hands gripped the edges of the table behind him, and how Niall ended up lifting him up so he was sitting on it properly, so he could stand between his legs and put his hands under his shirt and lose himself in his warm, yielding mouth.

   As he looks up at this still-beautiful boy, all he can see of him is his thin, pressed lips and the coldness in his eyes. And a strange thought crosses his mind. _I don’t love you anymore._

   Later, when Liam has left, with one token peck and a couple of clinical, efficient handjobs (because they are still technically boyfriends and who else would they be getting them from?), Niall takes up his guitar and starts to strum, freestyling the lyrics like a bird just learning how to sing.

 

_‘This is for directors of black and white movies about lonely sad guys_

_Walking out of the theatre we never admit that we saw ourselves_

_But everybody did, everybody did, everybody did_

_This is for the bands and the people they save_

_For the ones I’ve lost and the slipping days_

_For the complete waste we all make of our lives_

_When if we just reached out, if we could just try_

_But what did I expect, this is how it goes_

_I know I’m next, can’t save myself from the snow_

_I’ll send you a text cos I can’t find a rose_

_I guess they’re all dead, at least that’s what I’ve been told_

_And if that’s not enough then I don’t want to know_

_What I could have done cos then I’d have to do it, so._

_Could we make this easier and meet up by the lake_

_I’ll wear a stupid T-shirt_

_If it’s quick it won’t even hurt_

_This is for the fact that ten in ten people die alone and are recycled_

_And that if we wanted to change the way we live maybe we could_

_But maybe we’re too lazy or maybe it’s just that we_

_Are dying from the day we’re born, so baby breathe with me_

_Cos we are cursed forever to empty apartments_

_A lonely heart and a clock that swallows all our time_

_Never truly finding a crosspath of understanding_

_With anybody no matter how hard we try, how we try, how we try.’_

It takes him about twenty minutes to perfect it. He titles it ‘Empty Apartments’, then sits on his bed for a little while, fighting back tears and trying to convince himself it’s worth the year of his life he wasted on Liam Payne.

*

He knows about Zayn. The entire school knows about Zayn, no matter how smart Liam thinks he’s being, sneaking into the supply closet and keeping his phone switched off when they’re together so Niall can’t see the texts.

   But he doesn’t need to. Of course he knows. One of his mates is in Malik’s art class and one time he took a picture of him sketching Liam and sent it to Niall, with the caption **_head’s up, Bin Laden wants your boy._**

   Blatant racism aside, Niall couldn’t argue with that. He showed it to Liam because that was back when they still spoke properly, and Liam’s reaction was to shove him in the shoulders, not as hard as he could have, but enough to knock him into his bookshelf and hit his head against the shelf.

   ‘There’s nothing going on with us,’ he’d hissed. _‘Nothing.’_

   Niall just nodded, not because he was scared but because he couldn’t be bothered to push it. Liam’s about as scary as a big, soft dog with no teeth, and Niall’s strong. He’s spent he’s entire life making himself strong, as well as clever, attractive and cool. Golden boy, that’s what everyone call him. When he started hanging out with Liam they affectionately nicknamed him ‘Bronze’ behind his back. Niall doesn’t know why. He’s always thought Liam far better than him.

   So does Liam. Niall knows that too, deep down, the rare times he lets himself think about it. He’s not golden to Liam. Silver at best, or maybe just some base metal polished to a shine that will tarnish the second he steps out of his popular circle and into what Liam always calls ‘real life’.

   If real life is Liam, then Niall wants nothing to do with it. Real life to him is when he performs down at his local pub with nothing but a guitar and a microphone, or when he does the shopping for his mum because she’s tired or sad, or the acceptance letter from Manchester folded into his sock drawer. It’s not refused kisses or hard looks – and it’s certainly not Zayn Malik.

   Just because Niall is done with Liam doesn’t mean he can’t hate that boy, with his china face and angel eyes, for making this whole thing even messier than it already is.

   And now he’s gone and got himself a fucking three-way with Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson. If Niall is golden boy, they’re transcendence itself, far above any element on earth. The amount of wishful conversations – stopping just short of circle jerks – Niall’s had with his friends about their soft hair and their wiry bodies and their come-hither smiles, and fucking Malik gets the both of them the second he takes his eyes off of Niall’s boyfriend.

   Ex-boyfriend. But still.

   ‘And this is the part where you stop fucking moaning and drink your pint.’

   Niall feels more like pouring it over Josh’s head. ‘I’m a jilted lover; I have a right to be pissed off.’

   ‘Don’t give me that, you’ve been a jilted lover for at least three months. It’s nowhere near the reason you’re walking.’

   ‘No, but it’s the one that’s going to get me laid tonight.’

   Josh groans. ‘Bastard. Bros before ’mos, man!’

   ‘A little offensive,’ Niall informs him mildly, before finally knocking back his beer. It’s like a punch in the shoulder from an old mate telling him everything’s going to be alright, and within a minute he’s on his feet, zeroing in on a leather jacket by the bar. ‘Wish me luck.’

   ‘No,’ Josh says petulantly, and then mutters something about _the things I do for you._

   Niall ignores him, thickly plasters what he hopes is a winning smile over his face, and makes his way toward the man.

   But when he’s two paces behind him, the guy turns around – and he realises that it’s none other than Zayn Malik.

   Niall stops, scowls. How dare this arsehole look so good from the back? How dare he be here, right in front of him, as if he didn’t steal his boyfriend?

   The dark-haired boy glares right back. Niall wonders if he knows that he knows. Either way, he’s about to. ‘My boyfriend’s all yours now, Malik,’ he says as mildly as he can, placing his empty glass on the counter and leaning against it so he can look him in the eyes. ‘Congratu-fucking-lations.’

   The deep furrow between the boy’s eyes softens into a small frown. ‘What are you talking about?’

   ‘We broke up,’ Niall says thickly – although, it occurs to him, it’s not yet strictly true. ‘He’s too good for me but since you’re so perfect maybe you’ll actually be able to make him happy.’

   Zayn flinches, like he’s flicked a match into his eyes.

   Niall doesn’t care. ‘He’s pretty much fucking impossible to please but if you managed to get Harry and Louis to take an interest you could probably keep him occupied for a bit. How did you do it, huh? Is your mouth just big enough to take both of them at once?’

   Now he looks completely stunned, his lips parting in shock. ‘What…what the hell is your problem?’

   ‘My _problem,’_ Niall grits out, jabbing him in the chest, ‘is that you _stole my fucking boyfriend!’_

   ‘What the hell are you talking about? He never fucking touched me, you twat –’

   ‘But I bet you touched him, didn’t you, I bet you were all over him the second I looked away, you –’

   A firm hand grips Niall’s shoulder, another one clamping down over his mouth. ‘That’s better,’ the boy behind him says calmly, as Niall struggles to get away and Harry appears by Zayn’s side, a protective arm over his shoulders. ‘This guy bothering you, babe?’

   Zayn’s just staring at him. All of a sudden, he looks inexplicably sad. Which just makes Niall madder because it makes his eyes look darker, and sparkly, like goddamn star sapphires. It’s not fair. Niall’s spent his entire life striving, battling, to be beautiful; to be perfect – and it was never enough.

   ‘Let him go, Lou,’ he hears Zayn murmur through the haze of hatred. ‘It’s not his fault.’

   Louis’s grip loosens – but, experimentally, he slips his fingers into Niall’s mouth.

   Niall bites down hard.

   He withdraws, coming around to stand between him and Zayn, his arms folded and his face fierce. ‘Next time you have a problem with him, I’m the complaints department. Got it?’

   Niall nods sullenly. Then he slinks away, seething, barely remembering to grab Josh’s shoulder as he storms out.

 

*

In Economics the next day, Niall tries to ignore Liam, which is a little difficult since they sit together at a tiny double desk, but he’s managing absolutely fine until Liam nudges him and slides him a note. _R u ok? xx_

   Niall slides it back without a reply. He used to find Liam’s abbreviations cute, but at a time like this they’re inappropriately informal. He doesn’t want to break up through disjointed letters, and numbers instead of words. That’s not reality.

   Liam’s foot finds his under the table, entwining their ankles. Niall doesn’t respond.

   Then Liam’s hand is on his knee, and edging upward, pressing into his thigh, each inch more sensitive the last until it comes to rest between Niall’s legs.

   Niall swallows hard. He isn’t going to move; doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But he knows that Liam can feel him twitch.

   They’ve done this before, back in their glory days, when every minutes not alone together was an opportunity to tease. Liam knows exactly what he’s doing when he starts to palm him, the movement minute but excruciating.

   Is this an apology? Or a compromise?

   A tiny gasp escapes Niall’s mouth when he suddenly grips him. He pictures roadkill and open wounds and STDs.

   One of the other students gives them a disapproving look, presumably realising exactly what they’re up to. Niall tries to tell her with his eyes that he’d stop it if he could, but if he says or does anything at this point he’ll only draw more attention to them and this is so, _so_ not what he wants to be remembered for.

   Luckily, the bell rings and Liam removes his hand before things escalate much further. All the same, Niall has to pack up very slowly, staying in his seat as the others trickle out of the classroom so that they don’t see that he’s hard. Liam stays too, his fists clenching and unclenching on the desk. The girl – El, he thinks her name is – wrinkles her nose at him one last time before she leaves them alone.

   Liam clears his throat awkwardly. ‘Do you…want me to keep going?’

   Niall almost laughs. ‘Fuck sake, Liam, why do you always think you can fix everything?’

   ‘I…didn’t know there was something to fix.’

   ‘Really? You think this is OK?’ Niall snaps at him, standing up with the confidence that he’s definitely no longer aroused. ‘You really think there’s nothing wrong with the way we are?’

   Liam stands too, red-faced, pushing his chair back aggressively hard. ‘It’s not my fucking fault you’re never around.’

   ‘Why the hell would I want to be around you when you won’t even kiss me when we’re together?’

   ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

   ‘What do you think? Were you even _there_ the other night or do you just zone out completely when you’re with me?’

   ‘I was tired,’ he says defensively, folding his arms across his stomach. ‘And I got you off so I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Maybe I didn’t want to fucking kiss you cos you didn’t deserve it, did you think about that?’

   It’s as if he’s slammed a steel bar into Niall’s chest, that leaves an icy stain above his heart. _‘Deserve_ it?’ Is he serious?

   Apparently so. ‘Yeah Niall, weird as it might sound to you, you don’t get stuff just because you want it, OK? Maybe I have a higher opinion of myself than just to let you have me whenever you’re not busy.’

   Niall blinks at him. Who does he think he is; Prince Harry? ‘Well if that’s how you feel then stop touching me in class and find a new boyfriend.’ He can’t resist the jab. ‘Louis and Harry will probably get fed up of Malik soon, I’m sure he’d treat you like the deity you think you are.’

   _‘Malik_ means precisely nothing to me and you know it –’

   ‘Oh save it for the sweet nothings,’ Niall scoffs, shoving his books into his bag. ‘You’re pathetic. And you’re a dickhead. Bye.’

   That’s when Liam takes his shoulders, shakes him twice, and then throws him to the floor with the force of thunder. Niall lands on his arm, which immediately starts to hurt, and for a moment he’s so stunned that he can’t move, gazing up at this boy who’s always seemed so timid; so gentle. ‘Liam?’

   ‘Fuck off,’ he snarls vehemently. ‘And don’t you ever accuse me of that again, understand? You’re worth nothing, do you hear me? _Nothing.’_

   His words couldn’t feel more shameful if he’d spat in Niall’s face. He stays still, trembling, trying to understand what’s become of them; what’s become of him.

   Eventually Liam holds out a hand and Niall, not wanting to enrage him further, takes it and is hauled to his feet. They end up at eye-level, and he looks at the other boy’s sweet, soft face and his wide brown eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters, because anything that will get him out of here faster is worth saying.

   Liam lets go, and runs a hand through his hair. The anger’s gone now, and he just looks stressed. ‘Look, if you’d told me Zayn bothered you I would have stopped hanging out with him.’

   Of course. Because Liam’s such a believer in making sacrifices for other people. ‘Right.’

   ‘I mean it.’ He takes his hands again, stepping closer so they’re nose-to-nose. ‘You mean a lot to me, Niall, you know you do.’

   _Nothing_ rings in Niall’s ears. ‘OK.’

   ‘Come here.’

   And then he’s kissing him and this is definitely not what Niall wanted out of this conversation and his logic yells at him to pull away right fucking now before he gets in any deeper – but on the other hand Liam’s kissing him, and he used to live for Liam kissing him and now he remembers why because when they’re like this they’re perfect. Their heartbeats sync up and their mouths meld and it reminds Niall of something he once saw scrawled on a bathroom wall: _you’re in my veins, you fuck._

   Didn’t Josh tell him later it was actually a quote from Kate Moss?

   Furthermore, what the hell is he doing?

   He withdraws, instinctively wiping his mouth and then shoving his hands in his pockets so Liam can’t close that distance again. ‘Liam. You do realise that I’m breaking up with you, right?’

   Liam frowns. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got, Niall, no.’

   ‘Don’t make this my fault.’

   ‘Whose else is it?’

   ‘Fuck off.’ Niall grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘You might think you’re too good to walk away from, but I’m about to prove you wrong.’

   Liam stares at him for a second. Then he smirks. ‘Fine. Well, like you said, Tomlinson and Styles will get bored soon. Let’s see how you feel when you see me with Zayn.’

   Niall’s throat tightens. But he ignores it. ‘I’ll feel exactly what I do now. Which is that you’re selfish and manipulative and arrogant. Bye.’

   This time, thank Christ, Liam lets him leave.

   As he’s storming down the corridor, his eyes clouded and his head down, he walks right smack into – of course it is – Harry Styles, his arms full of disposable cameras and his shirt unbuttoned right down to his stomach.

   The taller boy smiles down at him surprisingly sweetly, considering the scene last night. ‘Sorry about that. I was in a hurry to get to my art club. You want to come?’

   Niall gives him a look. Has he got amnesia or something? ‘Why are you asking me that?’

   He shrugs. ‘You look sad. Art is really good therapy. And from what Zayn told me your boyfriend’s a complete dickhead so you might as well come hide in the studio for an hour or so.’

   ‘He’s not my boyfriend anymore,’ Niall mutters. ‘And you’ve got no business helping me.’

   Harry blinks at him innocuously. ‘Why not?’

  And it’s the oddest thing, because in that moment Niall truly cannot think of a reason past _The newest addition to your weird relationship may or may not have slept with my boyfriend although I’m not even sure if that’s true anymore._ And suddenly it doesn’t sound like a very concrete reason.

   But right now, he needs to be alone. He summons a smile of his own. ‘Thanks, but I have work to do.’

   Harry grins. ‘Gotcha. Golden boy, right?’

   ‘Right,’ Niall says, and with one last smile Harry hurries on, admirably steady on his long, skinny legs, weaving in and out of the sea of dull, blank-faced students thinking about chemistry and maths.

   Niall watches him go. But as soon as he’s out of sight he starts walking, fast, in the opposite direction.

   Harry Styles is so not going to be a thing. He has two boyfriends who both hate Niall’s guts. Plus if Liam saw him anywhere near him he’d probably do something dangerously stupid, like set them both on fire.

   No, it’s not a thing. Still, Niall thinks about him just a little that night, before he goes to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Zayn_

Zayn did not realise it was even humanly possible to make the noises that he is making right now.

   It’s not like they’re even doing much. Harry’s nibbling at his lower lip and Louis’s licking his neck, but it’s insanely intense. Especially since both their right hands are now inside his jeans.

   _‘Guys –’_

   ‘Is this not OK?’ Harry whispers into his mouth. ‘We’ll stop if it’s not OK.’

   This idea of _we_ is still so weird to Zayn. Hot, granted, and it could never be a bad thing to have two guys so enamoured with him that they insist on conference calls so that one doesn’t have to wait to talk to him the rare times they’re not all together. Still, it’s strange. But in a good way. He feels like he’s in one of Harry’s favourite indie arthouse movies. Except that this one has a happy ending.

   ‘Yeah,’ he murmurs back, gripping the back of Harry’s neck while he fists the other in Louis’s shirt. ‘It’s OK.’

   ‘Thank _God,’_ Louis moans, and then he yanks down Zayn’s zip and then they’re both gripping him and going _fast,_ fuck, they’re always so eager and they haven’t gone this far before but he could have easily predicted their messy urgency, and the way their teeth clank when they crash-kiss each other before returning their attention to him, and how wide Harry’s smile is when he comes into their hands with a gasp.

   Before they can even catch their breaths Louis’s making out with Zayn while the former pushes Harry’s head into his lap. Zayn’s dizzy and delirious and feels like he’s been drugged but Louis’s doing the work for him, licking into his mouth like Zayn’s saliva holds the elixir of eternal youth.

   When Louis comes he bites down on Zayn’s tongue and then withdraws to jump on Harry, and Zayn watches them snog with as much wonder as he used to watch robins from his bedroom window, and Louis grinds down on Harry about three times before he’s crying out, his curls damp with sweat, and then Louis collapses on him and they lie still for a grand total of four minutes before Louis bounces back up on his knees and gives Zayn a massive, lazy grin. ‘How was that?’

   Zayn’s head is still spinning, so he just says the first thing that comes into his head. ‘Quick.’

   Harry laughs weakly, still horizontal, while Louis’s face falls into only half-feigned outrage. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Malik?’

   Zayn gives him the best smirk he can manage given that all his muscles are slack with exertion and bliss. ‘That it’s a good thing you’re pretty, love.’

‘Heeeey,’ Harry moans. _‘I’m_ love. He’s other love.’

   Louis chucks him under the chin. ‘You can’t be both loves, babe. Gotta pick one.’

   Zayn rolls his eyes fondly. It’s odd that this debate about pet names is the most attention to detail they’ve ever given to the threesome thing. Everything else has just seemed to fall naturally into place. Zayn sees Harry in art class and Louis at lunch while Harry teaches the keener of the younger years how to hold a camera. Louis and Harry get their alone time in the hours Zayn takes for himself after school to work on his drawings, and then they all congregate at one of their houses and hang out together, swapping stupid jokes and sentences and banter like they’ve known each other all their lives. It’s weird, he admits to himself again, but it works.

   Now all they need to do is decide what exactly they’re calling each other. Harry likes the idea of ‘love’ and ‘other love’, but he never seems to like being the latter. Louis once told Zayn in private that he used to have fairly severe confidence issues, although they rarely rear their head nowadays.

   ‘Zayn’s my love,’ Harry says decisively. ‘Because he was mine first. So then I’m yours and…’ He frowns. ‘I guess you get to be his.’

   Louis gently kisses the side of his mouth. ‘How about we take turns week-to-week. Would that be fairer?’

   His face lights up. ‘You have the best ideas.’ He looks at Zayn with newly glittering eyes. ‘I’m going to kiss you now.’

   He always announces his intentions with Zayn, although he rarely waits for approval. Zayn likes it, though. He likes how gentle Harry is with him, like he’s a recently-broken vase and the glue hasn’t quite dried yet. He likes his curly hair and his big hands and what Louis calls ‘the dimples of death’.

   He likes Louis as well. How tiny he is, and how much havoc he can wreak given half the chance. How he touches Zayn like he’s a limited supply of sweets and Louis wants to swallow him up before anyone else can get their hands on him.

   He likes them both. Equally. And he’s still surprised every day at how lucky he is to have found two people so cool, and loving, who work so hard at easing him into letting them love him.

   And he’s only a little terrified at how much he already loves them back.

 

*

There’s only really one problem with their situation right now, and it’s that, once a week, Harry will leave Zayn and Louis alone for a few hours while he scampers off down to the high street of clubs and pubs to find other people to love.

   ‘That’s the thing, it _is_ love to him,’ Louis murmurs, while Zayn strokes his hair with his head on his chest. ‘When I get bored I find a guy, fuck him, get it out of my system and then I’m back by eleven. He picks up these scrappy waifs with broken wings and stays up with them all night so they can tell him their life stories, and then he’ll take a picture of them and kiss them until they’re smiling. Sometimes he doesn’t even have sex with them. He just comes back and sighs to me about their eyes and their issues and sticks the photos in that stupid journal of his. It’s actually pretty impressive how many he has. He says sad souls are drawn to him because of his aura.’ He laughs harshly, unconvincingly. ‘Twat.’

   It’s difficult for Zayn to know what to say. He knows that he’s exempt from these bitter diatribes: Louis loves him as much as Harry does, and he’s told him enough times that Zayn no longer needs to ask whether it’s really OK that he’s here; that Harry loves him. But he can’t pretend to fully understand their dynamic, let alone what goes on in Harry’s head. And he understands the sad soul thing. Harry radiates safety and warmth. Of course he’s a magnet for sorrow.

   That makes him wonder how Harry and Louis even got together in the first place. Louis certainly isn’t a waif, even if he is small and sharp-edged. And he certainly doesn’t seem fragile enough to break.

   When it’s evident that Louis’s done talking, Zayn eventually psychs himself up to innocuously ask how he and Harry met.

   To his relief, that puts a genuine smile on Louis’s face. ‘Oh God, it’s so fucking stupid. I was, umm, dating Liam, at the time.’

   Zayn nearly chokes. _‘What?’_

   Louis scrunches his face up, feigning embarrassment to the point of pain. ‘Ugh, I know, believe me, it’s not one of my proudest achievements. But we were only sixteen. Puppy love. Sickening in retrospect: when we texted each other we used to add at least sixteen kisses to hide the fact that we had absolutely nothing to say to each other.

   ‘And then I met Harry,’ he continues softly, smiling again. ‘Well, became aware of him anyway. He was doing this art project involving flower crowns: he threaded them from daisies and dandelions and trawled the school looking for volunteers. He’d take a picture of them as they were, and then one with the crown and after they’d chatted for a bit, to see how happy he could make them. I have no idea what the point was. Probably his version of speed-dating. Anyway, I let him persuade me because I thought he was pretty and I was kind of flattered to be asked – he did it right in front of Liam as well, cheeky bastard. So he took a picture of me, and then three terrible knock-knock jokes and a flower crown later he took another.’

   He pauses, as if working out which part came next. Or which part he’s willing to tell.

   ‘And then what happened?’ Zayn prompts, genuinely curious. He doesn’t want him to leave anything out. This stream-of-consciousness is fascinating to him. Louis never opens up; never speaks seriously. He could swim in the sound of his voice.

  ‘And then Liam gave me a black eye,’ Louis says quietly.

   For a moment, Zayn’s vision goes hazy. ‘He what?’

   Louis turns over, burying his face in Zayn’s shirt. ‘It wasn’t completely deliberate. We were at his house. He caught me off my guard, shoved me over, and I hit the edge of a coffee table,’ he mumbles. ‘Scared the shit out of him.’ He falters. ‘And me. I ran, and he let me. I haven’t spoken to him since.’

   Christ. Zayn’s head feels fuzzy. He tries to force his voice to be light. ‘So I guess I dodged a bullet, then.’

   ‘Don’t even joke about that,’ Louis says fiercely, lifting his head. Zayn’s shocked to see that his eyes are rimmed with red. ‘I’ve never told anyone.’ Pause. ‘I never even told Harry.’

   Still stunned, Zayn finds Louis’s hand and laces their fingers together as tightly as he can, as if they could be a foundation for a new beginning. He doesn’t love him any more than he did, but he’s drilled a small hole in his heart where before there was only a fingerprint. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

   ‘I wish I’d told you before,’ Louis mutters. ‘Hell, I wish I could tell Niall. I kept an eye on both of you, you know. I figured he wouldn’t be smart enough to hurt you where it wouldn’t show: he’s only violent when he loses it, and then it’s either a push or a punch. So I checked your faces and your arms – sometimes you’d wear long sleeves six days in a row and I’d be so close to confronting you – but he never hurt you, did he?’

   ‘No,’ Zayn tells him softly. ‘Not the way he hurt you.’

   Louis laughs again, hollowly. ‘Maybe it was just me, then.’

   ‘Hey.’ Zayn sits up, forcing him upright, and taking his face in his hands so they’re looking each other straight in the eyes. He can’t get over how blue Louis’s are. They’re like the fucking sky. ‘Never say that. You’re perfect.’

   Louis shakes his head, going pink as he tries to duck out of Zayn’s grip. ‘No –’

   _‘Yes,’_ Zayn insists, and then he kisses him, bruisingly, even though he’s never kissed one of them without the other and he’s not even sure if this is against the rules. From the way Louis melts into it, though, he assumes that he’s within his rights. ‘Perfect,’ he repeats against his teeth, pouring it on his tongue like honey.

   ‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ Louis whispers back, and it’s the tone of his voice, like he’s breaking because he can’t believe he _gets_ this, that he’s allowed to be with someone like Zayn, that makes Zayn want to give him absolutely everything Liam could never bring himself to give them, and that’s why he decides to say _I love you_ to Louis at least once every ten minutes for the rest of his life.

 

*

The next night, Zayn takes the executive decision to give Harry and Louis a night alone together. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome with them, so even though Harry bats his eyelashes and pouts for all he’s worth, he says a firm goodbye to the both of them after school, promising to see them tomorrow.

   He texts Louis every now and then though, because he wasn’t kidding about the _I love you_ thing. He knows that Louis switches his phone off when he’s with him and/or Harry, and he smiles at the thought that when he turns it back on it’ll be completely clogged with little love notes.

   So that Harry doesn’t feel left out, he sends him pictures updating his progress on his drawing of his two boyfriends, which he’s constructing entirely out of hearts, like an insanely cheesy version of Pointillism.

   At one in the morning, he gets a text from Liam. **_What you doing?_**

   He nearly throws the phone across the room.

   But he’s curious. He and Liam haven’t spoken, or so much as made eye contact, since the day Louis and Harry first escorted him into school. Why on earth is he talking to him now?

   He doesn’t text him back. He doesn’t want to lose focus from his drawing, or stare into space for however long Liam will wait to reply. He calls him instead.

   He picks up on the sixth ring. ‘Zayn?’

   ‘What do you want?’ Zayn hisses. Hearing his voice makes him think of Louis’s face when he told him how he hurt him. The way he cringed when Zayn called him beautiful. Liam is poison and cracks in the mirror, he knows that now. He’s not going to fall for this again.

   There’s a startled silence. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

   ‘You tell me,’ Zayn answers coldly. ‘You had no problem telling me for the past nine months. What’s wrong with me? What did I ever do to you?’ He can’t stop himself. ‘What did _Louis_ ever do to you?’

   Liam’s voice comes back brittle. ‘Don’t ever talk to me about Louis.’

   ‘Why?’ Zayn challenges. ‘Go on, Liam. Tell me what happened. Tell me why you hate him so much.’

   ‘What has he told you?’

   ‘That’s none of your business. I want to hear it from you.’

   Pause. Zayn waits, counting the lovebites on his hips.

   ‘I suppose he told you about our fight.’

   Zayn doesn’t say anything.

   ‘Whatever he said is a lie. We were arguing, he shoved me, I shoved him back and he fell. It was an accident.’

   ‘That’s exactly what he said,’ Zayn informs him. ‘Except he told me that you pushed him first, when he wasn’t looking.’

   ‘He’s lying.’

   ‘And why should I believe you?’

   ‘Because it’s _me,_ Zayn. Why would you take his word over mine?’

   ‘He and Harry have treated me better than you ever did.’

   ‘And what could they _possibly_ want from you in return?’ Liam says bitingly. ‘Huh, Zayn? What could you _possibly_ have to offer them?’

   Zayn’s throat tightens. Nausea clenches cold in his stomach. ‘That’s….you don’t…’

   ‘I tried to warn you, Zayn, they’re both complete nymphos. They don’t care about people; they care about bodies. They only stick with each other so they can sleep with whoever they want and have someone to talk to about it. You can’t keep up with that. How long do you really think they’re gonna let you stay?’

   ‘Why are you so desperate to hurt me?’ Zayn croaks.

   ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to help you. You need to get away from them before you’re in any deeper.’

   ‘No,’ Zayn mumbles, but his conviction is slipping and they both know it. ‘They love me.’

   And then Liam delivers the final, crushing blow. ‘They only like you because you’re perfect. I didn’t. I liked you for you.’

   Zayn sighs heavily, surrendering to what he probably always knew was the truth: being ‘perfect’ was never going to work for him, no matter what he did. He should have known that all along. But there is one thing he still doesn’t know. ‘Liam?’

   ‘Mmm?’

   ‘Why do you hate perfect so much?’

   Liam laughs lowly. ‘Louis left me for Harry. Why do you think?’

   Zayn’s heart is hurting so badly. He wishes he’d been born ugly, or just faceless, so no one would ever have thought it would be OK to make him feel like this. He wishes Louis had stayed with Liam and they’d been happy to shove each other around harmlessly and monogamously forever. He wishes that Harry didn’t chase love in the form of fixing broken wings, and that Niall just didn’t exist at all, even though he knows none of this is his fault. It’s Liam’s, for pushing too hard. It’s Louis’s for falling. It’s Zayn’s, for being perfect.

   ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, because it feels like the right thing to say.

   ‘I really like you, you know,’ he replies. ‘I always have. I’m…sorry, too. For making you feel bad. I’m kind of a mess.’

   ‘Me too,’ Zayn says softly, almost afraid to speak in case he breaks this, whatever it is. Liam is opening up to him. This is all he’s ever really wanted.  Maybe now they can actually be friends. Maybe…

   ‘Niall’s not my boyfriend anymore, by the way,’ he hears, out of the blue. ‘Do you want to come over?’

   He puts down the phone.

   So. He’s solved the mystery of why Liam suddenly decided to call him.

   And he’s not up to dealing with it, not tonight. He just wants to be alone.

   Both Harry and Louis have texted him, he realizes. Listlessly, he clicks on them.

   **_Hey love, your drawing’s amazing!!!! Can’t wait to see the whole thing, lysm and sweet dreams xxxxx_**

**_I love you too babe, you’re perfect and beautiful and amazing and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow ! So in love with you, sleep well babe xxx_ **

   Zayn opens the top drawer of his dresser and shoves the phone inside. Definitely not up to dealing with it. Definitely not up to admitting to himself that these charming, loving boys were only ever after him to add him to their little black books. That he might never be allowed to be truly, safely happy.

   That maybe he just doesn’t deserve to be.

 

*

Louis and Harry pick Zayn up from his house the next day. He doesn’t say anything, and since he’s quiet normally they don’t seem to mind, each taking one of his hands so they can walk to school. Louis strokes his thumb over his palm as he natters loudly about unfinished homework assignments and ‘moron’ teachers, and Harry affectionately bumps his shoulder every now and then, and Zayn doesn’t know whether he’s trying harder to hold onto what Liam said, or let it go. Does he really want to lose this just because he knows the truth? Is it that imperative to save himself from heartbreak? Couldn’t he just keep them for a little while longer, at least until his sweaters have started to smell like them?

   As usual, they drop Louis off at Economics, and he ruffles Harry’s hair and kisses Zayn’s hand. As usual, Liam’s waiting outside the door too and today when he catches Zayn’s eye he doesn’t need to say anything, just let one of his eyebrows twitch. Zayn does his best to ignore him, and lets Harry drag him away, up the stairs to the art room.

   ‘Are you OK?’ Harry asks gently, once they’re out of earshot of anyone else. ‘You look tired.’

   Zayn shrugs.

   Harry touches his hair. ‘You can tell me if something’s wrong, love. Did something happen last night? We missed you. If it’s something with your parents, or –’

   ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Zayn says abruptly, shaking him away. ‘I don’t need… _fixing,_ Harry, and even if I did that’s not a good reason to love someone.’

   Harry frowns. ‘What do you mean?’ Then his face clears. ‘Oh. Lou told you.’

   ‘I don’t care what you do on your own time,’ Zayn tells him stiffly. ‘Just…don’t drag me into it.’

   ‘Zayn.’ Harry puts his arm around him, ignoring his half-hearted attempt to pull away again. ‘That’s not what it is with you, you know that, right?’

   ‘What am I supposed to think?’ Zayn mumbles.

   Harry kisses his cheek. ‘That you’re gorgeous and clever and fascinating and that I’m in love with you. It’s not rocket science, love.’

   ‘And how many people have you said that to before?’ Zayn snaps.

   Harry’s face falls. He lets go, leaving a cold embrace where his arm was. ‘If you must know, yes, I like fixing people. And yeah, that normally involves something more than just talking. I make it clear that I don’t want anything serious, I make them feel a little better and then I tell them that if they want to talk I’ll be there for them. And if that doesn’t sound at all familiar to you that’s because that’s _not_ what I did with you, for a good reason. I don’t want to fix you, Zayn, I wanted to be your boyfriend.’

   ‘Because I’m pretty.’

   ‘Because you’re _you.’_ Now he looks less angry than concerned. ‘Love, who have you been talking to? I thought you got it; how can you not think we love you?’

   Zayn tries not to say it, but that small spark of trust left for Harry’s green eyes and sorrow-sweet soul sells him out, and before he can stop himself ‘Liam told me’ cascades out of his mouth.

   Harry stares at him. _‘Liam?_ Why were you talking to Liam?’

   ‘He called me,’ Zayn mutters, not meeting his eyes. ‘I mean, I called him because he texted me –’

   _‘Why?’_ Harry turns so they’re face to face, grasping his shoulders, urgency in his eyes. ‘Zayn, I need you to listen to me, I’ve been talking to Niall –’

   Zayn’s heart judders to a halt. ‘What?’

   ‘Yes, and he said that Liam’s violent, properly, and I think he might have hurt Louis as well and I don’t know how to even approach that with him because he wants to act so tough all the time but I need you to know –’

   ‘Why were you talking to Niall?’ Zayn says quietly.

   Harry flushes slightly. ‘It…it was him I was with the other night. We met up in a pub, I swear it was just by chance but he looked upset so I went over –’

   ‘How could you do that?’ Zayn yells, his heart jumpstarting into overdrive like a race car. Not Niall. Anyone but Niall, who Liam’s always loved over Zayn, Golden Boy who’s beautiful without being perfect and who can play football and guitar and who glows like the fucking sun because he’s so goddamn happy all the time.

   ‘It’s not his fault that Liam picked him over you –’

   ‘Fuck off!’ Zayn shoves him, not hard but hard enough that he stumbles, nearly taking Zayn with him. ‘So what happens now, you fuck him and then you decide you’re in love with him and you bring him back here and Louis bonds with him because they both dated Liam and you just _leave_ me –’

   ‘Zayn, sweetheart, no one is going to leave you, could you just let me –’

   _‘Don’t touch me!’_

   Harry takes his hands off his shoulders instantly. He looks close to tears. ‘What did he _do_ to you, Zayn?’ he whispers.

   ‘He didn’t do anything except tell me the truth,’ Zayn snaps back. ‘That you and Louis are bad news and I’m too fucking perfect to deserve to be happy. And I guess you just proved him right.’

   He reaches out again, his face contorting as his voice breaks. ‘Zayn, please believe me, we love you –’

   But Zayn isn’t sticking around to hear it this time. All it does is hurt. He runs.

 

*

He pleads sick to the nurse, goes home and cries into his pillow like he hasn’t for a long, long time. He resurfaces and draws himself with a melted face and a bloated body and then tries to will himself to swap places with the picture, like a subverted Dorian Gray.

   At five in the evening, ignoring the messages from Harry and Louis, he texts Liam. **_Can I see you?_**

   It occurs to him that he’s back exactly where he started. That this is probably all he can ever hope for.

   At least Liam replies positively. **_If u want. cum over?_**

   **_I’ll be there in ten._**

   So he goes, and all the while he’s walking there he thinks about Harry’s face the last time he told him he loved him, and Louis’s face when he said Liam’s name, and tries to convince himself that they don’t exist; that nothing exists outside of him and Liam; that they’re the ones who were always meant to be and everything else is just collateral damage. That’s how fate works, right? People get hurt, but only so the bigger picture can turn out beautiful, or average, or whatever the hell it is that Liam wants from him.

  Liam meets him at the door, and leads him to his room and they lie on his bed for a while in silence, and it’s just starting to go from strange to awkward when Liam gives Zayn his hand and it’s almost a relief to have something so familiar so Zayn kisses it, lemons and silk skin and warm palm and cold fingers, and then Liam hand is on the back of his neck, gently pushing, so he keeps kissing, all the way up his wrist and forearm to his shoulder. But when he tries to press his lips to his mouth Liam jerks his chin a little, taking Zayn’s hands and placing them on the buttons of his shirt instead so Zayn undoes them and kisses his way down his chest, bodywash and heat and downy hair, until he’s at the waistband of his jeans. Liam doesn’t say anything, but he bucks his hips upwards fractionally, and Zayn’s hands are shaking slightly as they work the zip of his jeans because Louis’s sucked him off but he’s never done it himself. He tries to copy what he did, tongue and spit and throat, and it feels right but wrong at the same time, and when it’s over and he’s swallowed he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do so he just rests his head on Liam’s thigh and closes his eyes and thinks about how it felt when Harry and Louis would both wrap their hands around him at the same time and one would kiss him while the other would nibble his neck and how they somehow managed to make him feel both sexy and completely overwhelmed – smothered – by love.

   Liam tugs gently at his hair. ‘You OK?’

   He nods. His voice sounds strange. ‘You were right. Harry went after Niall.’

   Liam chuckles lowly, although there’s no humor in it. ‘Funny how his type seems to be anyone he can steal from me.’ His hand moves down, slipping inside Zayn’s shirt to rest on his chest, heavy and possessive. ‘It’s all about the chase for him. Once you give in, you’re worthless.’

   Zayn hears the insult but doesn’t heed it. He’s too exhausted to be upset. He just wants to sleep. ‘Can I sleep?’

   _May I,_ his mother’s voice rings in his head. But maybe he really is asking. Maybe he would be physically unable to so much as breathe if Liam told him no. Physical dependency’s romantic, right?

   ‘Yeah,’ Liam says softly. ‘Go for it.’

   ‘I can’t believe I get to touch you,’ Zayn murmurs in sleepy wonder, his hand sneaking up his own shirt to lace Liam’s fingers through his.

   ‘I know,’ Liam says through a smile. ‘Night babe.’

   ‘Night,’ Zayn whispers, and he’s slipping into sleep before he can even remind himself not to dream about Louis and Harry, and wonder why he gave them up for this. He knows, though. He’s always loved Liam. Louis and Harry were collateral damage. He knows he’s thought that before but he likes it; likes how it absolves him and Liam of everything, letting them start over the way they were supposed to be. Nothing else matters. Everything is just collateral damage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's sad...promise I'll make the next one a bit happier. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long! Exams and drama, but I'll add an epilogue soon b/c I think I've said nearly all I need to...hope you guys like it!

Niall wasn’t planning to meet anyone tonight. He just wanted to do his set, knock back a pint, and then go home and sleep off the last six to eight months of his life, and every memory of Liam.

   And then, out of all the people in the world, Harry fucking Styles shows up, seemingly out of thin air, and flops down on the sofa beside him. ‘Hey.’

   ‘Hi,’ Niall says uncertainly, putting down his glass. What does this boy want from him? Sweet as he is, no way is he getting dragged into anything with Tomlinson and Malik. Or anyone, really. He needs a break from all that, truth be told. At least until he knows himself a little better.

   But Harry’s not smiling as wide as he usually is, and his fingers are twisting together in a way that makes Niall think this isn’t exactly a social call. ‘I’m really glad I ran into you, Niall. I want to know if I can talk to you. About Liam.’

   Niall tenses. ‘I’d rather not.’

   ‘I totally understand,’ Harry says quickly. ‘Honestly, I do, it’s just…’ His forehead creases. ‘I’m just confused. Lou’s never told me the first thing about him but he always seemed so against Zayn being with him back when we didn’t know him that well…and when I look at Zayn up close he just seems so… _scared_ of everything, and I always sort of got that from Lou but he was way better at hiding it, and now I just…I just want to know what he’s really like. What he does.’

   Staring at his sad face, Niall feels a startling tug of pity. Harry always seems so confident; so self-assured, that Niall never really considered the possibility that he might not _know._ He doesn’t know a great deal about Liam and Louis but he’s seen the way Liam’s fists clench when he speaks about him, and know he knows for sure Liam’s not adverse to using them the memory suddenly sends a chill down his spine. ‘Hasn’t Louis told you anything?’

   Harry shakes his head. ‘I bring him up sometimes but he always dodges the question.’

   ‘And what do you think Liam’s like?’

   He hesitates, as if struggling to put his finger on the words he wants. He’s fiddling with the rings on his fingers, and Niall counts them absently: a black band on the middle, a silver on the right thumb, a gold on either index and a tiny ornate one on his pinkie. He wonders how many of those are from Louis.

   ‘He doesn’t _seem_ bad,’ Harry says at last. ‘I see him, and I try to find something to hate, but he looks completely harmless. But then, there’s something…cold about him, as well.’

   ‘Cold? He’s fucking freezing,’ Niall retorts, a little too sharply. He checks himself, then continues, almost relieved to get it off his chest. ‘He thinks kisses are something to be earned; something he should be compensated for, like goddamn candy, and if he’s mad at you he just won’t talk. Sometimes he won’t even talk if he’s _not_ mad, he’ll just sit there waiting for you to do something he likes so he’ll have an incentive to say something.’ He can feel his eyes start to burn, and he can’t stop his voice from breaking. ‘I _hated_ it when he did that. It made me feel like a prostitute.’

   He feels Harry’s oversized hand on his shoulder, clumsily patting. ‘I’m really sorry –’

   Suspicions aroused again, he twitches away. He’s heard rumours of Harry’s game: of his weird thing for broken souls who go from crying on his shoulder to waking up in his arms, like some weird reverse break-up. ‘Level with me, Harry. Is this your idea of foreplay?’

   Harry flinches, pouting a little. ‘Hey. No. I can’t say I’m completely without ulterior motives – I want to be a therapist when I’m older – but I’ve actually been working on weaning myself off of sleeping with my would-be clients.’

   Niall frowns. ‘Why was that ever a thing?’

   He shrugs. ‘At first it was all I could think of to give them to make them feel better. Then after a while I started realizing that it wasn’t the sex that was helping them; it was the talking. After that, I stopped with the sex, pretty much.’

   ‘I thought you had an open relationship, though.’

   ‘I do. Doesn’t mean I have to take advantage of it all the time. Besides, there’s nothing like a threesome to completely tire you out.’

   He says it with such a straight – and genuinely exhausted – face that Niall has to believe he’s speaking from extremely recent experience. Still, he smiles, placated. ‘OK.’ Then, because he’s starting to trust the tall boy beside him leaning on his knees a little more, he murmurs ‘He’s pushed me a couple of times, too.’

   Harry rears back. _‘What?’_

   ‘He might have done worse to Louis, I don’t know.’ He swallows hard, anger and hurt and upset welling up in him once more like stones. ‘You should talk to him about it. Zayn too. He wasn’t that bad with me but then, I didn’t tend to provoke him.’ Come to think of it, with Louis’s smart mouth he must have caught the blunt end of Liam’s temper more times than anyone could count. And Zayn…Liam didn’t even date him. Would that have made him more or less likely to be a viable punching bag? Guilt twists sick in his stomach.

   ‘I will,’ Harry says quietly, still looking a little dizzy with shock. Abruptly, he hugs Niall hard. ‘Thank you. Thank you for telling me. And listen, any time you need to talk, call me OK?’ He pushes a piece of paper with a number on it into Niall’s hands. ‘I need to go.’

   Niall nods. He understands. When you find out someone you love was hurt, however long ago, and however safe they are now, you need to see them for yourself; put your arms around them; check them for cracks. ‘Go get your boys.’

   Harry smiles, but his eyes are far away, and then he’s running away on his long, deer-like legs.

   Niall watches him go. He doesn’t know why, but he hopes things turn out OK for him and the others. After all they’ve been through, he figures they deserve it.

 

*

_His house is dark tonight_

_He had a candle but the wind blew out the light_

_He stares out into the sky_

_The grass is always greener on the other side_

_Her mind is spinning fast_

_The crystals erase her past_

_If anybody cared enough to ask_

_She might let them break through her glass_

_But nobody wants to know_

_And there’s nowhere else to go_

_And we live in the yellow smoke_

_It goes over and inside, over and inside us_

_We live in the yellow smoke_

_We go over and upside, over and upside down_

_And all that we want to know_

_Is the haze will stay over our eyes_

_Because living in the yellow smoke_

_Is easier than facing what we really look like_

_His mirror’s crushed to dust_

_He’s so sick of hearing ‘lust’ instead of ‘love’_

_He washes his face in paint_

_Bleaches his eyes until he’s seeing straight_

_Her lungs are full of smoke_

_If she was breathing then she might choke_

_But she’s long past giving up_

_She just looks up and tries to call for someone_

_But nobody wants to know_

_And there’s nowhere else to go_

_And we live in the yellow smoke_

_It goes over and inside, over and inside us_

_We live in the yellow smoke_

_We go over and upside, over and upside down_

_And all that we want to know_

_Is the haze will stay over our eyes_

_Because living in the yellow smoke_

_Is easier than facing what we really look like_

_Colour is not light_

_They’d rather see in grey if it was true sight_

_They reach out across the sky_

_But we only see what’s in front of our eyes_

 

_And we live in the yellow smoke_

_It goes over and inside, over and inside us_

_We live in the yellow smoke_

_We go over and upside, over and upside down_

_And all that we want to know_

_Is the haze will stay over our eyes_

_Because living in the yellow smoke_

_Is easier than facing what we really look like_

 

‘That was good.’

   He jumps a mile, and then he turns around and – of course it is – Louis Tomlinson is leaning against the door frame, as cool and prettily punk as always. It’s was only last night that Niall talked to Harry. He wonders if the other boy has spoken to him yet. He wonders if Louis’s here to beat him up for talking to his boyfriend, and he clutches his instrument protectively. ‘What’s up?’

   Louis folds his arms, a sudden awkward shuffle in his feet. He looks very small, and just a little scared. ‘I just…wanted to check on you.’

   Niall frowns, unhooking his guitar strap from his shoulder. He’s commandeered an empty classroom to rehearse for his performance tonight, but whatever mess is still left of their five tangled lives is more important, if they’re going to make sure that Liam never hurts anyone again. ‘How come?’

   ‘Just…I never did,’ Louis mumbles, still staying in the doorway, framed by cheap wood and plastic and looking like a portrait of Peter Pan. ‘I knew what he was like and…I should have warned you. I’m really sorry, mate.’

   Niall feels his eyes widen. He would never have expected that. It’s not as if it even matters now, but he’s curious all the same. ‘Where…umm…where did this come from?’

   Louis sighs. ‘I don’t know. I was talking to Zayn last night and he sort of reminded me…what he was like, I guess, and I tried to keep track of you, I swear, I thought I’d know if he hurt you but I obviously dropped the ball with him and –’

   Niall tenses up, his chest clenching. ‘He’s hurt?’

   ‘Not physically,’ Louis says quickly, adding with a clenched jaw ‘Liam barely ever touched him, said they couldn’t. But you know what he’s like. It doesn’t have to be violence to make you feel like shit.’

   Niall nods. Oddly, he almost feels a connection between them, like an electric wire running through them both. ‘Sometimes he wouldn’t kiss me,’ he volunteers abruptly, because suddenly he’s desperate to know that it wasn’t just him; that Liam couldn’t have been happy with anybody, even someone as good as Louis.

   The smaller boy grimaces back. ‘Been there.’ He hesitates. ‘He twisted my wrist a few times, when I wouldn’t do what he said or go where he wanted.’

   Niall steps forward, holds out a hand. He imagines the static sparking through them, cleansing them of all the hurt Liam left in their hearts. He swears he feels his hair stand on end.

   Louis mirrors him, and their fingers touch. It should be weird, but it’s not, which Niall supposes he’s getting used to. It feels like something mended, something that was always supposed to be there, while another painful bond finally breaks free. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats, a little weakly.

   ‘It’s not your fault,’ Niall assures him, and he means it. Louis ran and he didn’t look back. Who is he to blame him for that? He hesitates. ‘It’ll be better, now.’

   ‘I hope so,’ Louis says lowly.

   Niall considers telling him about his talk with Harry, but decides that that’s a conversation best left to the two of them. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’

   Louis smiles, a hint of his old self sparkling through. ‘Just doing my duty as a fellow battered boyfriend. I’ll see you around then, yeah mate?’

   ‘Yeah,’ Niall agrees, waving as he darts away.

   He’s happy that Louis came to see him. Something broken, something fixed, puzzle pieces finally falling into place.

 

*

‘Be careful, mate. If people see you with Styles and Tomlinson they’ll think you’re part of their weird orgy-ship or whatever they call themselves.’

   ‘Threesome,’ Niall corrects calmly. ‘It’s a fairly common stance, you know.’

   ‘Since when?’

   Niall shrugs. ‘Everybody’s polyamorous now, didn’t you get the memo?’

   ‘Not me,’ Josh says haughtily. ‘And not you either, you hypocrite.’

   Niall shrugs. ‘I’m open-minded.’

   His phone starts ringing, singing out Ed Sheeran’s _Give Me Love,_ and although the number’s unknown he answers it, ignoring Josh’s huff of reproach. ‘Hello?’

   ‘Niall, he’s gone.’ Harry’s voice cuts into his head, breathless and tear-broken. I told him I talked to you and he ran away –’

   ‘Louis?’

   ‘No, _Zayn,_ you have to come and help us find him, we don’t know where he is –’

   ‘Where are you?’

   ‘Lou’s house, I’ll text you the address but please just come, I’m scared, Niall, I don’t know where he goes, I don’t know him –’

   ‘Haz, calm down, everything’s OK, I’ll be right there.’

   ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you –’

   Niall clicks off because there’ll probably be no shutting Harry up long enough for a polite goodbye, and then quickly texts him **_On my way x_**

   ‘The fuck are you going?’

   ‘Sorry Josh, Zayn’s disappeared, I have to go help them find them.’

   ‘You know what this proves?’ Josh yells after him as he walks away. ‘That no good can come from orgies!’

   ‘Threesomes!’ Niall shouts back, as every head in the bar turns to stare at them. ‘But thanks, mate!’

   ‘Keep me posted! Hope you find him!’

   ‘Will do!’

   Louis’s house isn’t far so he walks it, and finds the pair of them wrapped up together on the porch, frantically tapping their phones, Louis in the middle of leaving a voicemail: _‘Babe, speak to us, if we did something wrong we can fix it, just tell us where you are, please, please, please…’_

   ‘Niall!’ Harry calls as he looks up briefly. ‘Thank Christ you’re here –’

   ‘Zayn?’ Louis suddenly says, and Harry nearly drops his phone. ‘Jesus, we’ve been so worried…what? No, no, you know you can’t…for fuck’s sake, Zayn, don’t do this, I’m _sorry…_ you know that’s not true! No, Zayn, don’t go – Zayn!’ After a pause, he puts down the phone, shellshocked and white as a sheet. ‘He says he’s with Liam.’

   _‘What?’_ Harry exclaims. He grabs his jacket from the stairs and shrugs it on, standing as he does. ‘We have to go get him.’

   For a second Louis shrinks away, a flash of fear crossing his face. Niall feels it too: that helplessness, and that reluctance to be near him again. But almost instantly, he gets to his feet too. ‘Are you coming, Niall?’

   Niall’s hesitation is similarly momentary. ‘Of course. Let’s go.’

   They’re a sorry excuse for a rescue mission – gangly Harry, tiny Louis and shaky Niall, but they have their fierce hearts and their resolve, and that carries them to Liam’s door and makes Louis, with a deep breath, ring the bell.

   Still, he and Niall step back when Liam answers. He almost looks bigger than Niall remembers, as if he’s scared himself into making him seem even more powerful in person. The thought that crosses his mind is one he’s never had about another human being off the pitch: _He could hurt me._

   Luckily, Harry is not nearly as affected. He actually jabs Liam in the chest. ‘We’ve come to get Zayn.’

   He folds his arms, smiling lazily. His shirt is half unbuttoned, Niall notices, and he sees Harry and Louis’s fists clench. ‘He doesn’t want to go with you.’

   To Niall’s utter astonishment, Harry actually pushes Liam aside – he’s stronger than he looks; the other boy nearly stumbles, and strides inside. Louis follows, Niall close behind.

   ‘Zayn!’ Harry calls as they step into the house. ‘Babe, it’s us!’

   The dark-haired boy appears at the top of the stairs, thin and tired in an oversized sweater. He starts off scowling – but when he sees them Niall notices his face soften, as if he can’t stay mad at them. ‘Lou, I told you, I’m fine.’

   ‘You called him?’ Liam snaps.

   Zayn flinches. Niall swears he sees blood in Harry’s palms. ‘I…they wanted to know if I was alright.’

   ‘We talked about this Zayn, they don’t give a damn about you, why the hell did you tell them where you were?’

   ‘That is not true!’ Harry yells, his eyes burning out of his head. ‘Zayn, we’re leaving.’

   ‘Yeah,’ Liam says darkly. ‘You are.’

   He suddenly makes a grab for Louis, who steps back so sharply he crashes into the wall, his hands flying to his face.

   ‘No!’ Zayn yells. He steps forward, but stops at the top of the stairs, hovering.

   Harry shoves Liam in the shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare fucking hurt him again.’

   ‘I barely touched him,’ Liam sneers. ‘It’s not my fault he’s a fucking fairy.’

   ‘Don’t talk to him like that!’ Niall shouts.

   Liam turns to face him, still smirking. ‘What are you even doing here? Are you sucking them off too?’

   ‘I’m protecting them from you,’ Niall snarls.

   Liam moves as if to touch him, but Louis pulls Niall back before he can. ‘Don’t even try it.’

   For a second Niall’s scared there’s going to be a proper fight – but then Liam’s on the stairs, in front of Zayn, the other boy’s wrist held fast in his hand, ignoring his gasp of pain. ‘Get out of my house or I’ll hurt him.’

   ‘Guys, please go,’ Zayn whispers.

   ‘Are you not _hearing_ him?’ Harry cries. ‘He’s going to hurt you!’

   ‘Not if you _leave.’_

   ‘We are never leaving you again,’ Louis says firmly. ‘We love you. You’re perfect and we love you.’

   ‘We never hurt you,’ Harry says, his voice low. ‘Did we? Name one time we hurt you and we’ll go.’

   Zayn doesn’t answer. But he takes another step forward.

   Liam pushes him away. Hard.

   Something in Harry seems to snap. He runs up the stairs, grabs Liam by his collar and shoves him against the banister so his head is tipped back, half suspended in thin air. ‘New plan. Zayn, go.’

   He doesn’t. He looks frozen.

   ‘Zayn!’

   Niall is not letting this go on another second. He runs up too, grabs Zayn’s hand and pulls him down the stairs and out of the house, taking Louis too, like children on a playground running away from a bully.

   Harry emerges seconds later, a bruise on his jaw but otherwise unhurt. ‘Let’s go,’ he says quietly.

   Zayn reaches up and touches the discoloured patch. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

   Harry stares at him. Then he kisses him fiercely, nearly bending him over backwards like he did to Liam. When he breaks away they’re both flushed, their fringes and faces whipped by the wind. ‘We’re going to take you home now. And you are never going to be sorry for anything again. Right Lou?’

   Louis nods. Then he kisses Zayn too, deep and intense and reciprocated.

   Niall’s never felt like more of a third wheel in his life – but, oddly, not in an uncomfortable way. He feels at peace again.

   Their kiss isn’t as angry as Harry’s, but when it’s over Louis rests his forehead against Zayn’s and murmurs ‘We love you more than anything else in the world. _We’re_ sorry if we didn’t make you know that. Come home with us.’

   Zayn nods.

   Louis and Harry each put an arm around him, their hands meeting at his waist, and Harry turns to Niall. ‘I think we’re OK now, Niall. Or we will be, anyway. Do you want to come around to my house for dinner?’

   It’s sweet, but Niall shakes his head. ‘You guys probably need some down-time. I’ll see you at school though, yeah?’

   ‘Absolutely,’ Louis beams. He gives Niall a high-five, and Harry hugs him with one arm.

   He’s not expecting anything from Zayn – but he gets a small smile, and ‘Thank you.’

   He watches them leave, a bundle of safety and warmth. Some sixth sense prods him to look up, and he sees Liam standing at the window, staring stormy-eyed down at him.

   He flips him the bird. Then he walks away too.


End file.
